I
have recently returned from the delightful academic ritual that is the
scholarly conference. Between my arrival
at the airport in my small university town and my subsequent return nearly
fifty hours later to the minute, there were four flights totaling roughly
twelve hours on airplanes, an additional five or six hours awaiting departures,
two to three hours in rental cars, and twelve to fourteen hours sleeping on an
air mattress furnished by collegiate friends who understand all too well the
academic lifestyle to which we have all become accustomed. For those of you scoring at home, this would
account for all but fifteen to nineteen hours of the journey. Given that my host is a dear friend of mine
whom I had seen in person a whopping total of three times since the day we
graduated from college, the notion of traveling 2,000 miles and indulging his
substantial hospitality while failing to at least interact face-to-face for a
few hours is abhorrent and depressing.
Thus,
the whirlwind begins. Amidst the valet
baggage left on jet-ways, airline magazine crossword puzzles, a book full of
Malcolm Gladwell essays, and a
well-taped sprained-ankle which expands just to the point of wrap-induced agony
in a pressurized cabin, the journey begins.
I schlep, I make connections, I locate my overpriced rental car, pay for
the GPS-navigation system knowing damned well that such an expense is non-reimbursable,
and reject their offers of gasoline and additional insurance, which
incidentally, costs more per day than my personal car insurance demands per
month…and that includes my renter’s insurance policy as well. I exit the rental car center, adjust to a new
vehicle that would better suit a senior citizen than the under thirty set. Of course, being aware that such conferences
are not exactly bastions of the suave, debonair, and socially gifted, I suppose
the vehicle suits the occasion. In any
event, after an uneventful trip down “the 101,” I arrive at my final
destination around the hour at which my body begins to wonder why it has not
received sleep in roughly 20 hours nor food in roughly 10. After a happy reunion with my hosts, I bed
down for the evening.
The
following morning, despite my intellectual knowledge to the contrary, my
jet-lagged brain still believes 7AM is 9AM…and jars me from my peaceful
slumber. After a delightful breakfast
involving a plate of eggs Benedict in which the Canadian bacon was swapped out
for its greasier, crispier, and utterly delectable American equivalent, I drove
north. My GPS adroitly navigates me to a
parking garage a couple blocks from the conference, and of course, in my
infinite wisdom, I have forgotten to determine the cardinal direction of those
two blocks. After some awkward phone
calls and wandering, I arrive at the conferences and begin accomplishing the
tasks for which I came.
Posters
are visited, one of which bears some of my previous work – I smile, nod and
converse in its vicinity. I answer
questions gamely, concerned that my demeanor and charisma may ultimately prove
as relevant as my hydrological acumen. I
skip lunch, finalize the slides for my oral presentation, and settle in to
listen to a handful of talks. For those
unfamiliar with the genre, the standard-issue academic talk consists of 10-12
minutes of speaking, 2-3 minutes of questions, and a modicum of extra time to
round out each 15-minute session and allow one speaker to exit the stage while
his or her successor is introduced. This
afternoon, one particular individual failed to adhere to such constraints in a
spectacular, bordering on awkward, uncomfortable, and comical manner. Allow me to preface the description by noting
that the stage was a equipped with a 12-minute, countdown timer, replete with
flashing lights directly in front of the presenter. Short of being fully blind, it was impossible
to miss. Several presenters exceeded
their time in a manner that prohibited questions, leaving me to wonder if this
was by design on their parts. However,
more brazenly, one man motored on for 14+ minutes, obliterating any time for a
transition between presenters, let alone questions, before a moderator
mercifully interrupted him…but the shenanigans were just beginning. When he asked for “one more minute?” his
request was granted, if only to avoid the non-sequitur of a yanking a man from
the stage who seemed nowhere remotely close to a conclusion. When after a minute, rather than wrapping up
his speech, he blithely continued, undeterred by the circumstances, the
moderator mounted the stage, stood behind him, and spoke over his right
shoulder (clearly audible to the audience), “you need to stop now.” He did not.
At this point, the audience began the uncomfortable laugher of those who
bear witness to a socially sensitive situation, unable to discern what they
themselves would do – much like watching the scene in evening sit-coms in which
a relationship under wraps is unintentionally revealed to the previously
oblivious ex. It was evident that this
man was absolutely not planning on leaving the stage because an affable
moderator requests it. Given that the
use of physical force on small, frail, thick-glasses-wearing, foreign-accent
sporting academics would seem as implausible as a porn star in a convent, the
options were limited. Perhaps the best
description is that of the overly-theological academy awards acceptance speech
in which every actor, director, make-up assistant and coffee-delivery person is
praised ad nauseum until the music begins and the actor is not-so-delicately
ushered off stage. In this case, not
only was there no music, but not even the giant cartoon-like hook of loony
toons fame. We waited, he finished.
When
it came my turn to present, my primary goal became to avoid the ignominious spectacle
that had occurred in the room within the past hour. When I delivered my presentation, after
roughly nine minutes and forty seconds, I had finished speaking. Upon asking the audience for questions, the
overwhelming expression on faces was of surprise. As I am neither the world’s most captivating
researcher, nor grievously impaired with respect to public speaking, I presume
their expressions stemmed from the fact that unlike any other academic who had
presented, I had completed with sufficient time to allow for a grilling. Nonetheless, I was eager to be grilled, and
the process was rather uneventful.
Returning
to the gentleman whose presentation became easily the most noteworthy even of
my 50 hours, I noticed, as he closed his presentation, that he had brought with
him over 20 slides. If one’s number of
slides is equal to the number of minutes one is allotted for presentation, one
walks the razor’s edge. If one’s number
of slides exceeds that number of minutes, the circumstances demand
auctioneer-speed oration. If one’s
number of slides doubles the number
of minutes allotted for presentation, the task becomes akin to fitting a sumo
wrestler into a Porsche…
Of
course, these slides are submitted hours in advance to the officials at the
conference. Perhaps one of them enjoys
sporting drives on the autobahns in his 2003 Boxster and has also obtained
Yokozuna status.
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